The Pink Shoe Diaries

Well, the packing has started in earnest.


We are smack dab in the middle of two moving phases. We have already passed the "Steal and horde as many boxes as possible from work" phase and are moving into "Put every thing you own in a box and then ever so often realize you still need half of it and tear apart the packed boxes looking for a pan" phase

Each day I am more and more surprised at the amount of CRAP we have managed to accumulate in our two years at the Sea Street Palace. When going through my closets and cabinets and under bed storage it's almost like peeling away layers of my life since I moved out on my own, And by layers of my life I mostly mean shopping habits.

There is the box of remnants from my "I finally have my own place and MUST DECORATE but have no clue with what" spree of late 2004. This yielded all sorts of horrid wall decorations, urns, candle holders, odd sculpture and faux flowers bought at multiple TJ Maxx and Marshalls excursions.

Then there is that cache of cheap shirts from when I first discovered AJ Wright. There was a time when I believed that buying an entire ensemble for under $15 was a great way to spend a lunch break. Multiple times a week. That time is closer to recent memory than I would like to admit.

There are SEVENTEEN wine glasses but somehow only three spoons. I expect more to turn up as the excavation (I mean packing) continues.

There is that "inspired" pastel drawing of the Red Sox that Adam's mother bought for us two ears ago which I promptly hid in the back of the closet. And he saw me do it and instead of protesting, kind of looked relieved.

There are three Rubbermaid tubs of Christmas decorations but no one complete set of towels because we always bring them to the beach to use as pillows.

I guess what I mean to comment on is how taking stock of your apartment is really taking stock of your life. What is important to you (in our case, wine and Christmas), your memories, all the days and nights, weeks and months and years you spent living in 3 small rooms can be boxed and categorized or, in my case, mostly thrown the F out.

It's cathartic, really. You build up all this crap you don't need and in one day you get rid of most of it and re arrange what stays behind. Life begins anew. As does the re-accumulation of more crap.

Could I make moving sound any more like a colonic?